Jack In The Box
by TaiKaze
Summary: "After he put you through all this, you'll defend him?" "I will do it a thousand times again if I could!" With that, John steped onto the ledge, and all Sherlock could do was watch...
1. I am a soldier for you

[A/N; Iza helped me beta! Oh, and this will evolve in a very gay manner, never mind the female presence! You have been warned! XD]

John was still amazed that they had been allowed to go home. They had been the only people at the bombingsite (Moriarty and his snipers were long gone by the time Lestrade and the rest of the Yard got there) and he had been sure that they would be held in custody forever.

Still, someone higher up (Mycroft) had gotten them out in under twentyfour hours. The fact that Lestrade knew damn well Sherlock was not crazy enough to blow up both John AND himself helped, though Sherlock would never admit that out loud. He had probably used up all his manners "thanking" John for saving his life. Twice. In five minutes. Again.

Well, Sherlocks version of thanking anyway.

Still, they where home, actually earlier in the evening then usually, and John could still not believe they had gotten away.

The consulting detective however had not calmed down. It might be the fact that Moriaty was still on the loose, it might be because Mycroft had promised to "send someone over later", or it might be something completely unrelated because Sherlock was still Sherlock and he didn't operate like the rest of the world.

"How about dinner?"

There was a muffled noise, maybe "yes, that would be lovely", maybe "don't bother me I'm thinking and I haven't had my dose of nicotine today" and it might have been "John, your face is on fire".

"Right."

Figuring he should just force-feed the tall man as usual, the doctor ventured into the kitchen, finding that Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to stock up their supplies in their absence. He vaguely wondered what they would have done without her.

The mumbling continued out in the sitting room, his flatmate pacing back and forth, typing away at his phone. After a few seconds, he tucked it back in his pocket, only to pull it out again a heartbeat later. John could see the ideas in his head where running thin. Soon he would grunt/scream/growl and toss the phone away only to sink into the closest sittable thing available.

John decided pasta would be a good thing for the soon-to-be sulking detective.

Just as he started chopping lettuce (he would fill Sherlocks plate with healthy stuff, regardless of how much of it he ate) there was a firm knock on the door.

"Sherlock! Could you get that?"

He glanced over his shoulder, finding to his surprise that the tall man was actually making his way up from the black chair he usually occupied and over to the door. He must be REALLY bored to do something so mundane. There was a click as it unlocked and an unfamiliar voice was heard.

"Hi sweety! How are you?"

John froze. He had never heard anyone call his flatmate "sweety" before.

He was pulled from his confusion a moment later when the door was slammed shut again.

"Sherlock?"

He dropped the knife and rounded the corner to find the dark haired man holding up a finger to silence him, then closing his eyes and placing his hands together in his usual thinking pose under his slim chin.

"Sherlock?"

The voice outside the door was soft, not even the tiniest bit annoyed, but Sherlocks brow wrinkled anyway.

"Sherlock darling you know I can take this door apart in thirty seconds right?"

"Give it your best try..."

John quirked and eyebrow at Sherlocks tone. He had only heard him use it on Mycroft before. Not even Lestrade had gotten it. Yet.

"I don't think your landlady would approve... And she seems like such a nice woman."

"Then leave."

"Sorry doll. I can't. Can I come in now?"

"No."

There was a sigh, a frustrated one. John decided he'd had enough. Taking a step back into the kitchen he unlocked the other door, much to his flatmates dismay.

"Oh! You must be doctor Watson! Pleasure!"

He took a moment to size up the woman outside. Not what he would call attractive, short, muscular built, cropped black hair, nose that seemed to have been broken at some point and baggy short jacket with matching pants, both black. Vance, no socks.

"The same, miss...?"

"Haart. Linda Haart. May I come in?"

Sherlock, having apparently shaken off the shock from Watsons miniature-betrayal, threw open the other door and glared at them both.

"No, you may not! Why are you here? I thought you'd never want to see me again?"

"Oh please, everyone gets sick of you at some point. Some people just have a stronger immune systems then others."

Forcing the detective back (telling John Sherlock couldn't be completely opposed to her presence, or else she would never have gotten past him) she stepped into the apartment and in a swift move she had tossed her jacket over the table and landed gracefully on the worn out couch.

"I'm here because it's my job to be here."

"You're a journalist. And I doubt you want this story. You specialize in international incidents, the bloodier the better. There's a war somewhere in the middle-east, go take pictures of that!"

The woman, Linda, was not impressed. She crossed her legs and gave the detective a smile John couldn't place. Amused? Hurt? Taunting? All of the above?

"I'm hurt. Is that what you think my job is? Still, after all these years, you think I'd stick with that? I thought you at least kept an eye on me!"

Hurt. The doctor could relate.

Even Sherlock seemed a bit taken back. He blinked, twice, then tucked his hands in his pockets and turned towards her.

"Very well then, what is it that you do?"

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back and putting one foot on the other knee, remaining silent.

"Ah, really? You slapped me the last time I did that..."

"I promise I won't hurt you."

Silence. John had no way of knowing what tiny little sign of emotion (he was getting better at reading them) the sociopath made at this statement. He stepped out into the room, closer to the desks so he could follow the conversation like a tennis-match.

"And I promise I won't break our deal, if that's what you're  
>worried about."<p>

Confused, John looked back at his friend, surprised to see the hint of a smile flashing over his face.

"Very well then."

The doctor had never seen Sherlock observe a living human so closely. It was almost like she was a corpse, and Lestrade had called them in so Sherlock could do his thing.

"You have received military training."

"One point."

"You have been engaged."

"Nothing to personal now doll."

"Mycroft sent you."

"He asked so kindly..."

"How much?"

"Two more digits on my salary check."

"Cheep."

"You don't know what was on it before that."

A frown. No surprise there. Childish feuds, oh bother.

"You work for him."

"Everyone works for your brother, Sherlock! Even you do!"

Grunting. John had learned in a matter of weeks not to remind Sherlock about his brothers control to often, if at all.

"Your still...?"

"Yes."

"He sent you anyway?"

"I'm a professional."

"And the other?"

"Yes."

"More or less?"

"More."

"Sure?"

"Yes. Have you?"

"No."

"Going to?"

"No."

"Why?"

"You."

"Ah..."

At this point, eyecontact was broken and miss Haart gently stroked the bridge of her broken nose with her index finger. John was schooled enough in psychology to know that her nose had been broken in connection with his flatmate. The rest of the conversation made no sense what so ever.

"So, can I get a translation to that, or do I have to find a lexicon?"

"Very funny John..."

"I'll tell you!"

"No."

"Not the details, sweety, relax!"

He could guess. He really could.

Sherlock made another disapproving noise and stomped out into the kitchen. Linda Haart patted on the seat next to her and John politely pulled one of the chairs closer before sitting down on it instead. She rolled her eyes and bent closer, a wide grin cracking her face.

"How much did you figure out?"

"You're his ex."

"Bravo!"

"Not that hard with all your pet-names floating about! Could you  
>stop with that by the way?"<p>

"Only if you ask nicely!"

She smiled again and turned back to Watson.

"Collage. I was young and naive and thought he would change if he got laid. Everyone did. No such luck though. As you might have noticed..."

"You mean you two actually...?"  
>"Dinner, movies, making out in dark corners, the whole shebang! We did get along, would have still if he hadn't been so stubborn."<p>

"What happened?"

He tried not to think about what it meant. He tried not to think about that little sour feeling in his gut. He didn't want to recognise it, not just yet.

"I got beaten up, was in a coma for three days. He didn't want me around after that."

"What? Why not?"

He almost stood up, almost rushed out into the kitchen to  
>lecture the other man. Almost.<p>

"Because it was his fault."

He slumped back down.

"What?"

"Oh come on! I've read your blogg. You really think he would ever date someone who didn't share his addiction to danger? Or bother with anyone who didn't blindly followed him into the darkest corners of the world? I tagged along, just like you did. They took me, just like they took you. He made it in time to save you, he made it in time to watch them dump my bloody leftovers on the street. He didn't care that I forgave him. He didn't care that nobody blamed him. I was a burden, something that held him back. So he cut me off. That's just the way he is."

The was a cold hand around John's heart. If that was the case, would he cut of John one day too?

"Don't worry though, doc! I was more of a burden cause I loved him! And, you know... Girls ain't exactly..."

"His area...?"

He had just repeated what Sherlock had first said, at Angelo's dinner. It was a bit of a surprise when she first looked at him like he had fallen from the moon, then smiled sweetly and turned to yell in the general direction of the kitchen.

"That must be the sweetest thing I have ever heard!"

"Oh just shut up!"

John was beginning to fear that he would never begin to understand the subtitles to their conversations.

"How long are you staying?"

At this, Sherlock poked his head back into the sitting room, doing a marvelous job of looking like he didn't care at all. John wasn't buying it.

"Nine days."

"That's it?"

"Well, Mycroft said fourteen, but I think that if you two lay on the way-down-low and don't cause ANY trouble…"

The sociopath promptly ignored the looks the two shorter people where giving him and continued to stare out into space.

"Then I think I can get off in nine days and eight nights. Plus or minus six hours…"

"Seems likely."

John sighed and decided he was to tired to ask.

"John…?"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Is the pot supposed to be boiling over like that?"

"OH DARNIT!"

[Comments makes Tai type faster! XP]


	2. Digging my grave for you

[A/N; You get three chapters, all at the same time! CAuse I'm awesome like that! Iza is still the beta!]

Sleeping arrangements were easy and ridiculously hard at the same time.

"I'll take the couch."

"She can get a hotel room…"

"Sorry, I have to stay with you 24/7!"

"So you can take my room and I'll…"

"Don't be silly John!"

"You're being silly! I'll take your room, you never sleep anyway!"

"I'm still not sure…!"

"Besides, I've slept in your bed before, no biggie!"

"Fine! I'll just stay with Jonh then!"

"Fine! See, that worked out just fine!"

"Wait, what?"

Little details he had known about his flatmate, but never known  
>the reason for began to make sense.<p>

"Aw, you kept bone-head? You still talk to him?"

"Only when John is not available."

"Really? Before you couldn't stand it when people talked back  
>when you where thinking."<p>

"It's different now."

"I see…"

"Where did he get that anyway?"

"He swaiped from the drama-club when they made a satire about him at school…!"

"Sherlock!"

"Oh hush!"

Most of all, John started to realize he had given Sherlock a lot of slack, compared to Linda.

"NO BUTS! GET THIS OF THE TABBLE! IT'S POISENOUS FOR GODS SAKE!"

"Don't lick the table then…!"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes…?"

"Is this a real human heart?"

"Put that back!"

"It was in the microwave!"

"It's an experiment!"

"NOT IN THE KITCHEN! IT'S FOR FOOD YOU INSANE DUMBASS!"

But most of all, he began to understand that some people could argue about everything and still get along just fine.

He was used to the violin at three thirty in the morning, usually he just went back to sleep, but this time there was something else.

Sneeking down the stairs, thankful for his military training, he watched the two dark haired people in the room, one facing the window, playing slowly on the delicate instrument, the other curled up in the black chair, singing breathlessly in a language he didn't understand. It wasn't the same song, but it worked anyway, just like their personalities seemed to. Part of him wondered if she was going to leave again. Maybe this time, Sherlock would not turn her away. Somehow, John didn't like that thought.

Lestrade texted two days later.

"We will be back soon, just stay…!"

"Yeah, really?"

Sherlock glared at his ex, towering over her in his dark coat.

"Seriously? You think I'm letting you run off to chase down murderers and what-not while I sit here and roll my thumbs? Fat chance genius!"

She had gotten a duffle bag from a black mercedes the night she had moved in, and though it seemed to consist of a large variety of clothes she only seemed to have the black vance for footwear. John had never before met a woman who did not own more then one pair of shoes.

"Fine. Guess knocking you out would only cause problems."

"Yeah, and I don't think the good doctor here would approve."

"Damn right I wouldn't."

Somehow, the more annoyed Sherlock became, the more Linda seemed to enjoy herself.

"Ok, I let you drag Watson into whatever crime-scene you wanted, but this is becoming ridiculous! You can't just bring whoever you want, this is serious!"

Sherlock turned his head to smirk at the short woman, but she promptly ignored him and stepped up in front of Lestrade, fishing something out of the pocket of her short leather jacket and holding it up in front of his face.

"Yeah, I'm not here as his guest, I'm his baby-sitter, and you have no authority over me, so step aside, detective inspector, before I order you to."

Even Sherlock looked stunned (Sherlock's version of stunned) as the gray haired mans eyes widened, gulped and nodded for her to walk past him.

"Right! Go right ahead m…!"

"Oh! And you can call me Linda. Linda Haart. Sherlock hasn't figured me out yet so don't spoil it!"

"A-alright…?"

Now the consulting detective didn't even bother to hide his annoyance, openly glaring at her and stomping after her in his usual childish manner. John rolled his eyes and followed.

Todays victim was a middleaged man, found dead in a hotel bathroom. Sherlock crouched down, holding out his hand over the body, like he could read the events in the air over it. John sat down by the head, checking the open eyes and red marks on his throat.

"Strangled, probably with a pice of cloth… Cause of death seems to be the neck being snapped from the pressure."

"Good man John."

Linda hunched down on the opposite side as Sherlock, pulling on a pair of white gloves herself.

"Wow, that's a dead guy."

"If that is all you're going to provide to the conversation, please be quiet."

"Be nice, or I'll tell on you."

"I doubt Mycroft will care."

"I meant your mom."

The ice cold eyes shot up so fast John almost jumped backwards.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I have her on speed-dile, just in case."

"You kept her number?"

"Unlike you, I actually enjoy talking to her, so yes, I did!"

There was mumbling and John was actually glad he didn't hear it. He doubted it had been nice. Or legal.

"Wait, just who are you?"

The people in the bathroom (minus Mr. Dead) looked up to see Lestrade hanging in the doorway, a curious Sally behind him.

"I believe I just showed you my ID…"

"Yeah, but that don't explain how you know his family."

Haart smirked and for a moment she looked so much like Sherlock the other men had to blink to make sure she wasn't.

"I'm the corpse in his closet called a collage ex. Of course I know his family. I'm the closest thing his mother will ever have to a daughter-in-law!"

The face Donovan made at that almost made John laugh out loud, but he quickly suppressed it with a cough.

"You… Actually dated that guy?"

"It's so amusing how people are always so surprised when I mention that…!"

"If you are all quite done, I'd like some peace to work…"

"Sorry doll, I'll be quiet."

John noticed that as soon as Sherlock's eyes where back on the body, so was Linda's. They poked around the body like a well co-ordinated dance, emptying pockets and inspecting buttons. John almost flat like his flatmate had grown an extra pair of arms. Not once did they bump into one another or try to do the same thing. Lestrade looked equally fascinated.

"Hm…"

Sherlock stood, tall and dark in the bright room, still slightly bent over the body.

"Ok, what've you got?"

"Business man, late fourties, arrived yesterday from Dublin, Ireland. He was supposed to stay the week, but I think his plans where canceled."

He stepped over the body, forcing the woman on the other side to stand up and move towards the door.

"Whoever killed him got him by surprise, tossed a wet pice of cloth around his neck and snapped it clean off. So it's a professional, but no thrill in the act of killing, it's done to swiftly, whoever did it wasn't about to waste time."

"Why wet…?"

"Wet fabric doesn't tear."

Lestrade glanced at the newest oddity Sherlock had tossed into the blend and nodded sheepishly at her foot-note. Sherlock didn't even seem to notice he had been asked a question.

"So it was important to move quickly, but why? Body has been here for almost four hours, there was no need to hurry…"

"Maybe he was just worried the maid would come…?"

Sherlock took a second to give John his usual "idiot" glance and then he continued to move around the body.

"The whole thing is very professional, extremely clean. I'm guessing you've found nothing that suggests another person has been in this room?"

"Not a clue."

"Well, I'm not surprised… Anderson is on the clock…"

"Sherlock, be nice!"

"Make me…!"

Linda simply took up her Samsung and waved it in her glove-covered hand. Sherlock grunted but said nothing more on the matter. John had to bite his lip not to laugh.

"He would obviously have checked so that nobody would interfere, at least not someone like the maid. Perhaps a visitor… Someone the assassin could not let him met…"

"Sherlock…"

The detective didn't listen, making the short woman roll her eyes and sigh.

"But who? Why? And if that person came, why didn't they report it to the police, why just run away?"

"Sherlock."

"There must be a reason! If only we knew why he was killed!"

"Sherlock!"

"What?"

"Shoes!"

The three men looked dumbfounded at her, then at the mans feet.

Only one of them saw it.

"Oh! Of course!"

"Can't believe you missed that… Didn't think you'd be that rattled by my little threat."

"Oh shush!"

"I'm sorry, I don't get it…"

"Look at his shoes John, do you see it?"

John looked. Black, leather, probably Italian or something expensive like that, John had no idea, they looked perfectly normal to him.

"I've got nothing…"

"Me neither…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes (half his upper body too, just to make sure they realized how stupid they were) and sat down by the man's feet.

"His left shoe was taken off after he was killed, then put back on again."

"How in Gods name do you know that?"

Sherlock didn't spare Lestrade a glance, just untied the shoelace and gently pulled it off. He turned it over in his hands, taking in every inch of it.

"Sherlock, how did you know…?"

"The man is right handed, you can see that from how he has arranged things in the room. The left and right shoes where tied differently, the left one like it was made upside down. Simple really…!"

"Miss Haart had to point it out…"

"Hush!"

"Let him be, Detective inspector, I'm used to it."

"You honestly went out with this guy?"

"Yeah!"

"How did you get him to do that?"

"Oh, he asked ME out!"

Sally must have waved Anderson over at some point because when John looked up, there he was, staring at the short woman like she had stated that, well, nothing she could have said would have been weirder… Really.

"Sherlock Holmes asked you out?"

"Yeah, last two months of collage, just before he went off to Uni."

The detective on the floor sighed, obviously bored and wondering why people found this so very interesting. Putting down the shoe, he proceeded to tug off the dead mans woolen sock.

"I'm sorry, but why would that psychopath ask you out? I didn't think he cared…?"

There was a crack. Small really, but it came from the woman's knuckles and in the company of a glare that made all three police officers take half a step back.

"Who is a psychopath?"

"Linda, don't waste your time…"

"No, you shut the hell up Sherlock! And you! Say that one more time!"

She didn't yell, her voice didn't get all high pitched and she didn't move, but all the people in the room, except the one rubbing his temples with one hand, dead mans sock in the other,  
>gulped and paid very much attention.<p>

"I know you. You're the kind of police that throws a diabetic in the drunk cell cause you can't tell the difference at three in the morning. They still have people like you in the yard? No wonder you call him in!"

"Linda…"

"I told you to stuff it! Well, listen closely, jump-suit boy. Here's a bit of education for you; psychopathy and sociopathy are two distinct kinds of antisocial personality disorders. psychopaths tend to have more temperamental differences such as impulsivity, fearlessness that lead them to do stupid, risky things and an inability to understand social norms."

Before Anderson could do more then open his mouth with a finger raised, Linda continued, like it was a rehearsed speech, straight from the textbook.

" On the other hand, sociopaths have relatively normal temperaments; their personality disorder more often caused by negative sociological factors, neglecting parents, criminal influences in their youth, or, in this case…"

She pointed over her shoulder at the still very bored and annoyed man crouching on the floor.

"…Extremely high intelligence. Psychopathy leans towards being inherited whereas sociopathy tends to be caused by the environment."

Apparently, Andeson had forgotten what he was about to say, cause he was really quiet when she finally huffed a bit and placed her hands on her hips, speech finished. Lestrade seemed to think for a moment, then he crossed his arms loosely over his chest and asked in a curious tone.

"So… Sherlock is a sociopath because he's ridiculously smart, is that it?"

"What? No, high-functioning sociopath is just easier to fit into a sentence then "Enormous, ego-tripped, supersmart, socially awkward pain in the ass"…"

At this point, the subject of the discussion stood, looming over the dark haired woman, glaring daggers into the back of her skull. Linda, however, was pretty much unfaced.

"…Glare all you want, I'm still not playing this game of yours! You have problems, I'll give you that, but not enough to be a mental-case. Not yet, any way!"

Donovan made a disapproving grunt but didn't met the shorter girls eyes and quickly made her exit, followed by Anderson.

"Now, if you are all done, I think I have found what you are looking for. I'd say this one is beyond you Lestrade, if I have to be honest."

"You always say that, but I do manage to get my job done even without you."

"Then why do you bother to call me in?"

"Faster that way. Public safety and all that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at what he interpreted as laziness, but John smiled a bit. No man was lazy or masochistic enough to put up with Sherlock if he didn't put getting the job done over keeping his ego intact. Lestrade was just one of those people who didn't mind being bullied by a childish detective as long as he could keep the inhabitants of London safe. You had to respect him for that.

"So, who did it?"

"The black lotus."

"The what now?"

"They're back? Why?"

"They never really left. This man has had a pice of his skin  
>removed from the sole of his left foot. Must be a new guy then, if he hasn't heard about our little tangle with them. Or maybe they are naive enough to think I would not make the connection with the actual mark missing…"<p>

"He's talking about those guys who mistook you for him and kidnapped you, right?"

"Yes, I believe so…"

"And they cut a pice of skin from his foot because…?"

"Their smugglers all have a black lotus tattoo. The assassin must have done it so that the police wouldn't link him to the organization. This man probably took or saw something he shouldn't and they had him killed for it."

Sherlock gave him a strange look, almost confused, before he broke into a wide grin.

"Good job John! There is hope for you!"

They all looked at him in shock. Sherlock, complimenting a person of normal intellect on a deduction? Was it the apocalypse? Was the world ending? Had they stumbled into an alternative reality?

"I say we're done here. You can call Anderson in to do his manual labor."

With that, the consulting detective walsed out, throwing his gloves behind him as he went.

The still slightly shell-shocked group in the bathroom doorway stared blankly after him for a moment, then Linda cleared her throat.

"So, I'm guessing that's a first for you guys too?"

"Yeah…"

"I'll say…! Did he just give you a compliment?"

"Wonder who he is and what he did to my flatmate…"

"Where is he going?"

"Oh crap I have no idea! Doctor, hurry up! Nice working with you detective inspector! See you around!"

And once again, John was chasing after Sherlock as he strode off  
>into another mess. Having company in this was still a bit new, but he would manage.<p>

He hoped…

[Comments makes Tai type faster!]


	3. Took a bullet for you

[A/N; Iza betaed, and the titles are based on a swedish song, Gubben i lådan, which means Jack in the box! XP]

Mycroft remembered the first time he met Linda Haart.

Met and met, invited over for a chat was more like it. He had not acquired his loyal assistant, (was it Anthea she was going with now?) but he was still not short on people willing to do his bidding. So his brothers new "acquaintance" was gently picked up and taken to the back yard of an abandoned summerhouse. She was seated in front of him and he offered her tea to which she replied.

"If this has anything to do with Sherlock, I'm leaving."

He briefly wondered if he had been seen through, but decided it was more likely that a number of people had approached her on the subject and she was beginning to tire of it.

"I'm afraid I can't let you leave just yet, but this will only take a moment."

She sighed, leaned back and tucked her hands in her pockets, like a child waiting to be schooled on a prank they would never regret.

"I believe you and Sherlock have grown more… Intimate over the past week. I'd wish to know why."

She snorted and glared at him.

"And why on earth would I tell you about that? I don't even know who you are!"

He sighed and pulled up a card from his suit pocket, sliding it over the table and leaving it up side down by her untouched tea cup.

She raised an eyebrow and took it up, flipping it over. She stared at it for a moment, then she stared at him, then back again.

"You're Mycroft? You're his brother?"

He nodded shortly, placing his hands on the table.

"Well I'll be damned… You know, you could have just called me, asked me to come over. I would have been less pissed about it."

She tucked the card into her pocket, which he guessed, along with her much brighter face, was a good thing.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if Sherlock didn't know about this meeting…"

"Why not?"

"Since we have a very... Delicate relationship."

"Well, if you make it a habit of kidnapping his girlfriends, then I can see why!"

"You are the first girl he has ever asked out. At least in this fashion."

"Really? But girls practically throw themselves in his path!"

"And yet you have no competition."

She looked away, thinking.

"Oh, yeah, they all give up as soon as he opens his God damned mouth… Yeah I can see that!"

"But you didn't…"

"Well, he doesn't mean to hurt people, he can't help it. It's just the way he is. Everyone has issues. His is pointing that out to people…"

Mycroft allowed a small smile. A person who actually understood  
>his brother, accepted his little quirks. Oh he had waited for this day.<p>

"You met him at the start of this year…"

"Yes, we have psychology together, and advanced chemistry."

"But you engaged in this relationship only a week ago. What changed?"

"I dunno, he asked me out?"

"And the reason you didn't do it before him?"

"Cause I figured he'd never say yes."

"And you where alright with this?"

"Not much to do about it, was there?"

He nodded. His brother could be very cold, even to people he liked.

"What do you believe caused him to ask you?"

"Jesus, this is an interrogation, isn't it? You really are brothers… I'm pretty sure some of the guys told him he should get laid and I'm the only girl in the class who hasn't slapped him silly."

"So this is for sexual purposes?"

"I guess."

"And this is alright with you?"

"He IS very sweet, when he puts his back into it."

"Hm…"

"Mycroft, can I call you that? Your brother is an amazing person.  
>He's a brilliant man and I care very much for him. I know he's not what people would call normal, but I don't really mind. I believe he cares for me, at least a little, and that is enough for me."<p>

"Really? Women are usually more demanding the so."

She grinned, and there was an edge to the seemingly soft young woman that Mycroft had to admit was probably what Sherlock had seen too. He did always like the dangerous ones.

"Mycroft, do you really think your brother would have settled for  
>a normal girl?"<p>

He thought about the reports he had gotten, the reports about his brother and this girl getting involved in things they should stay out of but Sherlock was never going to listen to his big brother. This girl didn't seem to mind, and he supposed that was really all he could ask for.

"Yes, of course, forgive me."

"Anything else?"

"Ah yes. I would like you to call me a little now and again. Just tell me what he's up to, how his life is going, how he's doing in school and so. I would, of course, compensate you."

"Are you asking me to spy on your brother?"

"In a way, yes."

"Dear God… Does he know you do this?"

"Of course."

"And you wonder why he dosen't like you…"

"Is that a no?"

She bit her lip, pulling her earlobe in thought.

"How much are we talking here…?"

That was surprising, but he didn't let it show.

"Your months rent, is that enough to easy your way?"

"Double that and we have a deal!"

"A bit greedy, are we now?"

"Thought I'd share it with my boyfriend. I don't get to treat him to much."

"I see…"

"Are we done?"

"That's up to you."

"Pretty much, I'd say!"

"The gentlemen outside will take you home."

"Nice to met you, Mycroft Holmes."

"Much the same, Miss Haart."

One of the more pleasant times he had questioned his brothers new spouse. The only one that came close was the time he had invited the good doctor. She was the only one that had taken the money and still managed to pass his little test. She had told Sherlock the moment she got home, and split the money clean in half. Sherlock had taken it surprisingly well, considering.

Sherlock remembered a select amount of people he had met. Most people he forgot about the moment he didn't have to remember them. Deleted to make space for more important things. Some people however, he remembered every detail about.

"Complex about your height, possibly because your brothers where teasing you when you where younger and being the only girl in the family it made you feel inferior. Thus you have developed a very aggressive stance against people who try to define you as either little or feminine, or anything in between. How else one would refer to you however is beyond me. You don't seem to have any other complimenting factors. I'd suggest you try too…"

At that point she had splashed his face with his own cup of water and told him to go die.

He had soon found out that Linda Haart, though her temper might be short, had a hard time holding a grudge and when he had told the prettiest girl in school that her boyfriend was just using her to cover up his relationship with the gym teacher, she had been the one who laughed the hardest and bought him a cup of coffee to celebrate. There had been a small number of people that spent time with him. They seemed to rotate, so that they could drop out of his company when he became to much, and he would still have people around him. Linda was the one that filled in most often.

When the winter was over and spring came around, his male friends all agreed that the reason he was like that was because he hadn't "gotten any" and thus it was an easy fix. He told them that they where ridiculous, but since they would never shut up about it, he decided to just get it over with. Thus he went to the only female he knew he could stand for any length of time.

"Yeah sure! For coffee or are we getting dinner? Are the others coming?"

"No I mean will you be my girlfriend?"

"…What?"

"My flatmates have stated that I need to "get laid" and since I  
>have no desire to aqoint myself with any of those brainless things that keep coming on to me, I thought I'd ask you."<p>

"Oh, my… That's so damn romantic."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"What gave me away?"

"So that's a no?"

"I never said that. I'm just saying you're lucky this is me and not  
>any other girl. You'd get such a whoolop!"<p>

"Has it occurred to you that's why I'm not asking anyone else?"

"Ok, that was ALMOST cute!"

"Really?"

"Well, coming from you…"

Part of him debated what and what not to delete about certain people. As long as he wasn't sure, he kept it, just to make sure.  
>He figured this bit was sentimental, or something like that.<br>Damn emotions, so illogical.

"You got me. You little brat!"

Sherlock smirked. Face to face with the gang leader he had just exposed. The police where moving in and he had just proven to them they would not be able to take him down without guns. To bad he had taken all the weapons away before his cover was blown. The men trying to stand up after his demonstration was grunting and one tried to get up but collapsed in front of the leader.

The tall bulky man kicked him away and straightened out his jacket and pierced Sherlock with a glare.

"You have destroyed this entire organization. I'll have to re-locate, stay low for years! You're not even big enough to drive a car!"

"I must disagree about that, but yes, I have destroyed you."

"You little prat!"

Sherlock kept smirking. This was good. He could probably do this for the rest of his life. Probably would.

"Oh, well. At least I got a bit of revenge…"

The smirk disappeared instantly. Sherlock watched the man with new intensity, trying to read the meaning behind those words.  
>The man smiled at him, cruel and vengeful.<p>

"Where is your little pet tonight, detective?"

His heart grew cold. Haart. They knew her, she had beaten them up, been right at his side. They had taken her, to get to him.

"You might want to hurry home, boy, if you want to see her again."

He didn't stick around to toss any off-handed threats or last words at him, Sherlock just dashed out of there, heading home as fast as his legs cold carry him.

She was a bloody pile on the front steps. He called and ambulance, tried to keep her breathing as her throat was clogging up with blood from her broken nose and her lung giving out, pierced by her own rib. She was shaking, a bloody mess, eyes rolling in her skull.

She was lucky to survive him. He knew that. Everyone told him so. The guys that had pushed them together now told him to back off and never come close to her again. He obeyed, almost.

He bought a flower, not a rose a peony, and put it by her bedside at the hospital. He stuck a note underneath and left, not to see her again for years.

We're over. SH

She did call him, three days later. He let it ring, twentyfour times, before she called Mycroft.

His brother handed him the phone.

"She says you don't have to talk, just listen."

After a few moments, he figured he owed her that much. Her face would never be the same, not with that nose.

"Sherlock?"

"Mh."

She was quiet for a long time. He knew she wanted to tell him everything, every little thought that had crossed through her mind since she woke up, but she knew that he didn't want to hear it. She settled for something he was used too, something he knew how to answer.

"I love you."

"I know."

He hung up, didn't want to hear the crying he was sure was coming. She was only so strong. Mycroft glared at him, he didn't understand that was the kindest thing he had ever said to her.

She looked up at him, tangled in the sheets, only the bright yellow fabric covering her skin from the cold night air drifting in through the open window. He leaned back against the wall, sighing.

"I don't think this is your area…"

"What isn't my area?"

"Girlfriends."

"Mh… You might be right."

"Don't worry, I won't tell. Crawl back down here and you can honestly tell them you slept with me."

She laughed at her pun and he smiled a little back. Sliding back down next to her, he gently stroke some hair away from her face. It had been so long when she was young.

"You don't have to be so nice you know."

"I love you."

"No, you don't. And I hate when you say that cause I know you're  
>lying."<p>

"But you say it to me…"

"Well, I mean it."

"Then what am I suppose to answer?"

"The truth."

He nodded. Suppose that made sense.

"Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

He took a deep breath, ridding himself of the habit to say what everyone told him girls wanted to hear.

"I know."

She smiled. That was good enough.

"Sherlock?"

He looked up, almost hanging over the back of his chair.

"Yes John?"

"What are you thinking about? You looked so concerned…"

He glanced over to the woman on the couch, typing away on  
>her laptop.<p>

"Nothing really. Just going over some archives."

"Right, ok… Whatever…"

John took his own computer right out of the detectives hands and walked over to the desk again. There was a snort from the couch and Sherlock decided she had to go.

Time to go visit his arch-enemy.

[Comments makes Tai type faster! X3]


	4. I can might as well keep going

It had been a week. She was still there. Mycroft had refused to let her leave, so she was stuck. Apparently, she had grown very loyal to queen and country over the past few years, much to Sherlocks disappointment.

Now she was hanging over Lestrades computer, trying to keep up with his requests of what he needed from the Detective inspectors hard drive.

"Is that it?"

"Pretty much. It's enough to go on for now."

"Does he know you do this?"

"When did you become such a good hacker?"

"Oh please, you must know the password, it's all over his desk."

Sherlock glanced around, then nodded.

"Mh, true. I never bothered before…"

"Really, you should keep that up. Friends don't hack into each others computers."

"Two things; One, he stages drugsbusts and such just to annoy me…"

"You pickpocket him and with-hold evidence, I think he's entitled. Oh, and if the second point is that you'r not friends I'm going to slapp you."

"… Why?"

"Because you are. Now shut up I'm trying to read my E-mail."

"On a police computer…?"

"It's nothing I don't mind sharing…"

"He is not…!"

"Ah! Detective inspector! Would you call this lunatic a friend of yours, or am I completely wrong?"

Lestrade looked around his office, which had been empty when he went of to the toilet. Watson in the corner, looking like he wanted to apologies and shot someone at the same time, Sherlock on the edge of the desk, typing away on his phone and the woman, (he didn't dare think about what she was in fear of Sherlock reading his mind) typing away on his computer.

"How… Did you start that? It's coded…"

"Really? I thought it was a formality, with all the clues you have laying about…"

"Sherlock!"

"I hacked it, Lestrade, calm down."

"Why?"

"Bored."

The answer came instantly, from them both and Lestrade looked at John for backup, finding only a shaking head and a face full of "what am I doing here withthese people?", nothing he couldn't relate too.

"Ok, fine. What do you want?"

"Found your killer. He will be at a little shop in Soho in fortythree minutes, you should hurry."

"Oh… thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome. Any news of Moriarty?"

Lestrade shooed miss Haart away from his chair and sank down, already tired to the bone.

"No, nothing. I'll let you know, but you have to be patient with us. Either that or go find him yourself."

"I don't have the resources…"

"Sure you do!"

"None I wish to involve in this…"

"So you DO care wether or not people are hurt?"

It was quick, subtle, if he hadn't been looking at him, or if he had even blinked, Lestrade would never have seen it. That little, almost unreadable glance cast in Watsons direction. That tiny spark of fear and remembrance.

"Yes, yes. Of course I do…"

It would be easy to believe that he didn't mean it, but suddenly Lestrade was certain.

Sherlock was becoming a good man.

That thought was enough to forgive the detectives intrusion and kick them out with a smile on his face. He had a killer to arrest.

"I saw it…"

"I'm sorry, saw what?"

John couldn't help but to feel cornered.

Linda leaned in, trapping him further against his door.

"I saw the look you gave him at the office, when they talked about Moriarty. You where terrified that Sherlock really would go after him."

"Well, yes. He's a dangerous man and…"

"John."

"He's sure to get hurt, Moriarty is a maniac…"

"John…"

"I mean, I know he gets his kicks from it but it's to much…"

"John, we both know that's only part of it."

He wanted to deny it, wanted to ask what the hell she was talking about, but the feeling in his gut had only gotten stronger in the past week and the words where not coming out. He glanced down the stairs, knowing how keen Sherlocks ears where when he actually listened.

"I sent him to get milk…"

"He never gets milk."

"You don't have his moms number."

"You're evil, aren't you?"

She smirked.

"I'm close second to Mycroft on his list!"

"Ah."

"And that was really cute but I'm used to the Holmes trying to dodge my questions, and I'm sorry to say you are no match."

"Ah…"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure…"

When Sherlock did get home, he heard some rather disturbing noise from the bedroom upstairs. Now, he was used to hearing those sounds from Linda, but he had never heard it from John before. For a moment, he wasn't quite sure he should interrupt them, it was nice to hear they had started to get along, but he really didn't want to listen to this.

"What are you two doing?"

"Sherlock! Don't you ever knock?"

He glared at the two people in the bed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Honestly, you're so moody! John and I are just having a bit of girl-talk!"

"Hey!"

They erupted in giggles again. Sherlock was beginning to wonder if they had borrowed their tea from Mrs. Hudson.

"Girl-talk?"

"Well, it's close enough!"

"I disagree..!"

"John, we are five minutes away from braiding each others hair and gossiping about UK's got talent! Trust me, I know!"

They laughed again, and this time Sherlock changed his mind. He had heard John laugh like that before, just once. That time they had ran across London, just to prove to the doctor that he could. Laughing like maniacs in the hallway, just for the heck of it. He had liked that laugh better.

"What have you been talking about so far then, if not poor telly…?"

"You, mostly."

He grunted. Linda knew most his secrets. It had never bothered him before, he knew she could keep tight, but for some reason he worried now. Was it because he knew how much she had changed?

Or was it because of the person she was talking to?

Lestrade saved him from his darkening thoughts. With a flick of the wrist Sherlock brought up his phone and glanced at the incoming message.

"We are needed. Put your shoes on John, Linda, feel free to stay home…!"

"Fat chance!"

"Mh, I could hope…"

Morning of day nine after the invasion, as Sherlock insisted on calling it, he was bored. He was bored and annoyed and people refused to die (at least in a manner that interested him) and even worse, they where invaded.

"Didn't I tell you to throw that thing out? How old is it? Have you washed it at all? Are you going to just lie there all day? Are you listening to me? Sherlock?"

He curled himself deeper into his bathrobe, ignoring the far to familiar nagging of his ex. A tiny part of him was smiling at the nostalgia, but the rest of his mind soon ganged up on the traitor.

"Sherlock? SHERLOCK!"

"Oh just lave him be, you know he does that…"

"Not a good reason to let him! Have you seen some of the stuff he comes up with when he's bored?"

"Have you see the wall?"

"Oh… I was wondering where the bullet holes came from…"

"Are you two quite done yet…? Your constant jibberish is annoying me…!"

"Then why do you insist on crashing out here? Go to your room!"

"It's invaded…"

"I'm not there right now, be a rebel and take your land back!"

"Go away…"

"Fine! I'm going to ask if I can go home yet! With a little luck, your brother is not cruel enough to turn me down… Do you need something back John?"

"Hm? No, no I'm going shopping, don't worry about it."

"Alright then. Sherlock, stay out of trouble for an hour and maybe I'll be out of your hair by tonight!"

"Couldn't come to soon…"

He waited until he heard her reaching the bottom of the stairs, then he got up and stomped over to the window. Peeking through the curtains, he watched her leave. He could see the history of her training in her steps. No limp, not like John, but it was there. A sturdiness that hadn't been there before. He didn't like it, it made her edge more visible. He had liked it better when only he could see it.

"You're gonna miss her, ain't you?"

He glanced at John. He knew where this was coming from. John would never give up, not even in the face of new and more reliable facts. He sighed.

"You can ask her to stay…"

"She'll say no."

"You don't know that."

"We've had this conversation before, John."

"I say you should."

"She's been engaged…"

"It was broken off."

"It ended. Those two exact words. It ended. That's what she said, nothing more."

"Same thing Sherlock!"

"She won't stay."

"She loves you."

"I know."

"Is that all you're ever gonna say to that?"

"I've never said anything else."

"Not even when you where dating?"

"No."

"…You're such a git."

"If you don't like it then leave!"

"Fine."

Sherlock turned as the door opened, almost terrified. He wasn't! He couldn't! Wouldn't!

"I'll be back soon. Anything special you want?"

Oh, right. Shopping.

"…No. You run along on your little mundane task…"

"I hate you between cases. You're such a prick."

But he said it with a smile and then closed the door behind him. For some reason, the detective became all warm inside.

Six hours earlier.

"And you are certain?"

"Yes sir."

"How interesting."

The short man licked his lips, running his fingers over the pictures. There was the tall dark haired detective, his sand blond little pet, and now this. This bulky, dark little woman.

"Seb…"

"Yes sir?"

"Go fetch her for me, would you?"

"Yes sir."

"And the doctor too, while you're at it. I have a new game for our little detective. And this one will really be a blast…!"

He smirked as the other man left the room. He had never thought he'd get a chance to come through on his threat so literally, but here she was, just like a blessing from above. He would kill two birds with one stone, and he would make sure Sherlock enjoyed ever moment of it.  
>Moriarty leaned back in the chair and laughed.<p>

[A/N: Comment makes Tai type faster! Iza is still beta!]


	5. Lost in the depths

Day three of the invasion, or night actually, Sherlock had been standing in his door way, fingers under his chin, observing the sleeping figure on his bed.

There was something off about her. Not threatening, not like she had come with a knife to stick in his back (though she had one tucked away in her left sleeve of her jacket) but there was something she wasn't telling him and it worried him. Since when couldn't she tell him everything?

"Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?"

He turned to look up at John who was quietly making his way down the stair.

"It's three in the morning, why aren't you in bed?"

"I could ask you the same! What are you doing?"

Sherlock turned back to stare at the figure sprawled on his bed. She was a heavy sleeper, they could be screaming at the top of their lungs and she'd just turn over.

"She's hiding something…"

"Sherlock…!"

"What?"

He looked over to the doctor again, finding him rubbing his temples and sighing.

"No good?"

"A bit not good…"

"Why?"

"You don't stare at people when they sleep, it's creepy."

"…Really?"

Another sigh, this one softer, and John came down to stand beside him.

"Ok, what's the matter?"

"She's hiding something from me…"

"What?"

Sherlock pointed in, and on a reflex John glanced at the sleeping woman before promptly turning his head away again.

"She's sleeping stretched out."

"And?"

"When she sleeps alone, she had a habit of curling into a ball. It's just when she is in a relationship that she sleeps like that."

"She has been engaged…"

"On an average, it takes her less then a month to start sleeping curled up again."

"Your point being…?"

"It's less then a month since her engagement ended, but still my brother deems her emotionally stable enough to send her to guard me."

"Maybe she is?"

"Unlikely…"

"Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

"Bed. Now."

John left no room for argument as he gently closed the door and practically shoved his flatmate up the stair again.

Sherlock was sorry to admit it, but the sleeping arrangements had been very hasty. He had not thought it through.

There was just one bed in John's room. Sure it was big enough for the two of them, but Sherlock had not slept next to another person for a long time. Especially not someone he was…

Well, needless to say he had not been doing much sleeping.

But tonight he was shoved down on the soft covers and part of him felt like joking that John should be gentle with him, but he had a feeling it would scare the doctor away. Much like everything else he felt like saying but didn't. Better to have him around as a flatmate, a colleague, a friend, then ruin it just for a bit of earthly pleasure.

So Sherlock just grunted and curled up on his side, facing the wall, ignoring the shift in weight as John joined him.

For a long time, it was still. He listened to the slow steady breathing of the man who was back to back with him. Some nights he would take John's wrist in his hand, pressing his fingers to his vain, fading away as he counted the beats of his pulse. Sherlock had never slept so good before. Or woken up so frustrated.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

He bit his lip at the slightly guilty tone in his voice, then peeked over his shoulder at the man he had been sure was asleep.

"Did you ever love her? At all?"

He thought about it. He knew who they where talking about of course. John had given him many worried looks over the past few days, and Sherlock guessed this is what it bottled down to.

He could lie, tell him "yes I did" but it was John and he didn't want to lie to John. He still did, and way to often, but he didn't like it and it left a bitter taste at the back of his mouth.

"I care for her, I always did."

"That's not love, Sherlock."

"She never asked for that."

The small sigh told him that John did not approve.

"John, what I had with Linda was an arrangement. She loved me, I tolerated her. I know it's not what people think is health but it worked and she didn't mind.

Just look at her now! She's perfectly fine…"

"You just said she wasn't…"

"When did you start to pay so much attention…?"

"I always pay attention to what you say…"

Now that was one of those little things that John said that made Sherlock's brain go completely loco for a millisecond. It wasn't what he wanted it to be, but a man could dream, right?

"Is that so?"

"Yes. You do say such extraordinary things, I'd hate to miss out…"

Sherlock smiled into the dark. He loved it when John said things like that. Brilliant. Amazing. Extraordinary. It was just words, annoying words that he had never liked before, but when John said them there was a warm spot on his heart, like sunshine, and it grew every time.

"I see…"

"Would you ask her to stay? I mean, I could move out, she could move in… I'm sure you could make it work."

"I'd rather you stay, John."

He did, he really did. John, leaving, it would break his heart.

Though part of him saw the reason in John leaving.

_I will burn the heart out of you._

Yes, he could see why he should drive John away, like he had with Linda. John was in more danger then she had ever been, yet he was still here. Sherlock simply couldn't get himself to make the other man leave. And Linda knew, oh when did she become so clever? Really.

At least she was the only one who knew. The only one who knew his secret, the only one. Well, she had helped him find out, so it was inevitable, but still. If there was one person in the world he trusted half as much as he trusted John (how did that make sense? He had known Linda longer. Damn emotions, messing with his logic) it was her. She would never tell. Not even with her dying breath.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It would be better for us all if you stayed, John. I'd be lost without my blogger after all."

There was a soft laugh. Sherlock smiled and was swayed into dreams with a soft sturdy body pressed up against his back.

"So you noticed huh?"

"What can I say? I do get where you're coming from, after all…"

"Really? Then tell me cause I have no clue!"

"I think we need tea for this."

"So, here we are in the same boat…"

"Same bed's more like it!"

"Very funny…"

"Well, to be honest John, we're not really in the same situation."

"Suppose, you've moved on. I'm suck with him. I don't think I'll ever get away…"

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

He leaned back, sipping the lukewarm tea, avoiding Lindas knowing eyes.

"He'll never love me back. He'll care, he'll be my friend, but he will never love me back. I know that, but it still hurts."

Linda sighed, cursing the fact that she had yet to break a promise she had made to that infuriating man, and snuggled up against the doctors arm. She leaned her temple against his shoulder and smiled a bit.

"If he was ever going to love someone, it would be you, John Watson."

"Oh really? Why me?"

"Because you're perfect."

He watched her sip her tea with a face of utter disbelief.

"Me? Perfect? How on earth did you make that equation work?"

She giggled, the way Sherlock smiled before he told him how stupid he was.

"Because you are. Sherlock has a type, and you fit it. Nice and quiet and follows him around like a love-sick puppy. Don't make that face, it applies to me too. All that but still aggressive, bites back and tells him off."

"Great, first I'm his date, now I'm his dog…"

"Shut up…!"

She bumped him, almost spilling the last tea, making them both giggle.

"I mean it! He needs that balance! Someone who follows him but still tells him when it's enough! Keeps his feet on the ground, and all that."

"Oh, right, cause he always listens to me…"

"Lestrade is a bit the same, but no edge… He likes the edge… Lestrade gives up to easily, gives in to him. He wants fight, a challenge…"

"Wait! Lestrade?"

"I'm just making a general assumption. Stay with me!"

"You're crazy…"

"As crazy as they come, and so are you…!"

"Really?"

"You've been kidnapped, twice, because of him."

"It wasn't really his fault…"

"Shot at, nearly blown to bits…"

"Now hold on…!"

"You know this life will never change, it will never be dull, never safe…!"

He didn't answer. He knew what was coming.

"And yet, here you are."

He lifted his cup, found that the tea had grown cold, lowered it again. Then he sat up a bit and tried to mend something of the conversation back together.

"Still, you are all that and he still doesn't love you. What's the difference between you and me?"

She smiled at him. For some reason, he almost smiled back. It was like he was turning a page in a book, finally coming to the conclusion.

"Yes doctor, what is the difference between you and me?"

"I have more then one pair of shoes…!"

"Oh that's not funny!"

"But it's true!"

"I have more then one pair of shoes!"

"Really? What?"

"A pair of boots for winter…"

"Dear lord…!"

"Stop laughing!"

"I've never met a woman with only two pairs of shoes!"

"It's not funny!"

"Yes it is! It totally is!"

"Stop laughing!"

"You're laughing too!"

"Oh shut up!"

"What are you two doing?"

"Sherlock! Don't you ever knock?"

His eyes snapped open. It was four in the afternoon, no, three fiftyfive, and still the flat was empty. They had been gone for almost one and a half hour. To long.  
>Sherlock sat up, leaving his bathrobe on the couch. He had a bad feeling in his gut.<p>

Just as he came back out from his room, clean clothes in place, his phone went off. Linda, so she was alright then. Maybe Mycroft had kept her for a cup. But where was John?

"Yes?"

"Hi sweetie."

"Linda, where are you?"

"I got held up. Never mind that I have a clue!"

"A clue to what?"

Why was her breathing so heavy? Had she been running? She hated people who panted in the phone, she always waited to call when she was out of breath unless it was important. This didn't sound lifethretening.

"Moriarty."

It was the way she said it. He could feel it. He could see the gun pointed at her face. Moriarty.

"Oh! Where?"

"I'll text you the address, come to the roof. I don't want to climb all those steps again…"

"Elevator?"

"Broken, take the stairs."

"I see. Is John with you? He hasn't come home yet."

"No, he's not with me. Maybe he was held up too?"

"Yes, he could have bumped into someone, hasn't been gone that long…"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Why would she point it out, now, in this situation? Ah, of course. Judas kiss, the ultimate betrayal. A code. Always tell girls what they want to hear, otherwise you're weird. Well, Linda knew the weirdest thing he could answer. Prove he knew something was wrong.

"I love you too. I'll be right over."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Linda let out a harsh breath as Moriarty took the phone from her ear and turned it off. He smirked and tucked it into his pocket, nodding at the man holding the gun to her temple.

"Good girl. Now then, is the doctor secured?"

"Yes sir."

"Well done Seb. Good job. Now then, let's get this show on the road!"

Linda dropped her head, her shoulders shaking. Moriarty smiled wider at the show of despair, missing the wide grin spreading over the woman's face.

[A/N: Comments makes Tai type faster! Iza is the beta! X3]


	6. A thousand times again

He was shoved through the door and out on the windy rooftop. He cursed Sherlock and his obsession with texting. John didn't even check the number any more, only three people in the world texted him on a regular basis, and if it wasn't a Holmes, is was Lestrade.

"Ah, doctor Watson, how nice of you to join us!"

He knew that odd speech pattern. Would recognise it anywhere. Had nightmares about it, to the point where he wished for dreams about the war. Not in the last week though, he had slept better in the past seven days then he had since he first set foot in the middle east. Not that it mattered now. Not while facing the living nightmare.

"Moriarty…!"

"Now be civil doctor, there's a lady present."

He bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder. Linda, gagged and arms tied back in the arms of a man with a stone face and a very real gun.

"Much better. Now if you would hand over your phone…"

He looked over at the man in the suit. Jim was still smiling, one hand in his pocket and one held out in front of him.

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, my friend here will blow her kneecap off. You can refuse for a while, she has a good set of limbs, but I'd hate for her to bleed out before the star attraction gets here…"

He could hear her struggling, mouthing words around the pice of fabric between her teeth. He knew what she meant, but he couldn't do that.

He sighed and dug out his phone, placing it in the pale hand.

"Ah, smart move. Now back over to the ledge will you? Just give me a moment…"

John backed up with his back against the concrete wall, the city of London beneath him. He noticed there where only four people on the roof now, the men who had brought him had gone back down the stairs. He had no idea why, but it couldn't be good. Still, little he could do right now. He wasn't about to risk Lindas life.

Moriarty typed something on his phone, then placed it on the ledge about three feet from where John was standing. Then he looked up and smiled again.

"Now then, step up on the ledge, please."

Sherlock ran up the stairs. Never mind that it was a trap, never mind that it was dangerous. It was Moriarty, of course it was dangerous. And he had them. John and Linda, he had them. Sherlock could not leave them in the hands of that man, not for any length of time. So he ran.

Stairs, hundreds of stairs. He only wished Lestrade would be able to keep up. More stairs.

Then suddenly, there was noise above him. Before he could think about it he had ducked into a doorway. He stopped his breath, remained quiet and still. His dark coat was really inconvenient in this white, bright space, but if he didn't move they wouldn't see him. At least not until it was too late.

The first one was big, bald, (shaven, not natural) with a AKA-47 tucked in under his arm. Heavy breathing, probably recovering from a cold.

Second was shorter, but just as bulky. Also shaved head, but thick short beard covering his chin. Armed the same way, but his right arm did not move like the left one. Shoulder injury, probably little over a year old.

First one receives the side of his palm over his adams apple, then a knee to the stomach. Grab his chin with the hand used to hit him, bring up head in time to use as shield from his mate. As the second man hesitates, not willing to shoot his comrade, kick first man into second. Duck in events of stray bullets.

After making sure neither of them where getting up, Sherlock took the weapons and tossed them down to ground level. He would not be able to use them efficiently anyway.

Up up up the stairs. Pause for a split second at the heavy metal door, realise the thick material will not let through anything except the howling of the wind. Curse under breath and kick door open.

Nothing.

There was nothing there. It was empty. No people, at all, just the wind and an amazing view of Londons skyline.

"You have got to be joking…"

"Oh John, I'm beyond joking now. You and your little master have been sniffing around again, and I can't have that… You even brought in the Secret service!"

John glanced at Linda again, getting a small shrug and what would have been a smile had they been in any other situation.

"So, I'm sending Sherlock a message, and he will answer it this time…!"

"What message?"

If he could just keep talking, Sherlock would come. He would figure it out, like he always did, and he would come. He'd wait until the last second, he loved an entrance a bit to much for John's taste, but he would come. He just had to stall Moriarty for long enough.

"He's not coming, doctor."

"What? Ehrm… What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid with me. It's annoying. People are stupid enough as it is… Sherlock is not coming to save you."

"What makes you so sure…?"

He could be dead. No, Moriarty didn't want to kill Sherlock, he wanted to hurt him. He was alive, he had to be.

The madman (had he ever called Sherlock that? How naive he had been back then) smiled and a chill went down Johns spine.

"Because I set up a trap for him, and he will jump right in it because that's where he thinks he'll find you!"

Moriarty laughed, a cruel and sinister laugh and John wondered why he hadn't just walked away. So many people had told him too.

Well, that was one reason. As for the other…

Sherlocks smile flashed before his eyes. The wink as he left to fetch his riding crop from the morgue, and every other smile he had flashed him since. They just became more and more sincere, warmer even, or was that just his imagination?

He didn't need more reason then that.

"Amusing as that is, get on the ledge doctor, or the girl dies."

"Is that so…?"

"Well, maimed at least…"

Suddenly, Linda trashed about like she was trying to shake her own skin off. The man holding her growled and pulled her back hard, shoving the gun against her side to still her, but she was done anyway. She had managed to rub the gag down against her captors arm.

"Don't you DARE John! Don't you fucking dare!"

He barely registered Moriarty holding up his hand, a sign to let her keep talking.

"I'll kill you myself if you do it!"

John didn't move. He looked back at Moriarty, wondering how he would cope with this.

The short man sighed, like he had hoped for something better, then he pulled out a gun of his own and aimed at John's forehead.

"You might not have to my dear…"

Sherlock carefully stepped out onto the roof, lifting the phone to his ear.

"Lestrade?"

"We're set up but I don't see anythi… Wait! I see someone!"

"It's me, look…"

He raised his hand, glancing over at the building where he had placed the detective inspector and a pack of snipers. It was the only building close enough that was taller then this one. Why hadn't Moriarty picked that one? Never mind, he wasn't here either, so what was going on?

"Damn it Sherlock! What's going on?"

"I don't know! Do you see anything from up there?"

"No… Wait! There's something at the edge, just left of you! Do you see it?"

He glanced over, bad feeling in his gut returning with reinforcements.

"Yes…"

"What is it? I can't see from this angle…"

"A trap…"

" I'm sending Sherlock a message, and he will answer it this time…!"

"What?"

"It's a trap… Get over here!"

He didn't wait for a reply, just shoved his phone back into his pocket and walked over to the ledge.

_"Don't play stupid with me. It's annoying. People are stupid enough as it is… Sherlock is not coming to save you."_

_"What makes you so sure…?"_

He looked at the little box, a one-way transmitter. It was getting a live-feed. Next to it was a telescope, aimed and ready for him.

_"Because I set up a trap for him, and he will jump in it because that's where he thinks he'll find you!"_

Sherlock placed his eye to the black rubber ring, feeling his heart sink into his shoes.

_"Amusing as that is, get on the ledge doctor, or the girl dies."_

And then Sherlock understood. This was his plan. Sherlock would get to see John die, from a far, unable to help. He had to do something, but he couldn't look away. Any moment could be John's last… He should move, he really should, but what could he do? Even if he ran, even if he could fly, he would never make it.

_"You might not have to my dear…"_

"You'll shoot me?"

"Yes. You're ending up on that street, what ever you do. It's your choice."

"What's the difference?"

"To you, none what so ever. You're already dead. But it matters to her."

"Why?"

"Because, either you keep this nagging up, and I shoot you and then her…"

John could not let that happen. No, Sherlock would be devastated. He could pretend differently, Linda could be blind to everything, but they belonged knew that. Her dying was not an option.

"…Or, you jump, it's labeled suicide…"

The phone, a last message, no one would protest. They would think life with Sherlock had driven him too it. Damn.

"…And she lives!"

"What, you let her go?"

"Well, eventually… I heard she got dissformed once before because of him, wonder what he'll say when he sees her without her skin…"

First he didn't understand, then John remembered.

"No…"

"I never thought I'd get this chance! I was referring to you last time but this is too good to pass up! His actual heart, right in the palm of my hand! I kill you, he's devastated, I ruin the girl he failed to save once before, he's COMPLETLY devastated! It's brilliant, don't you agree?"

"You're mad…"

"Oh, John, everyone's mad. I just make a better show of it. Now, make up your mind!"

He looked at Linda, her shaking head, her terrified eyes. He looked down, and took a deep breath.

"Ok."

"Hm?"

"I said ok, I'll do it."

"What? No John don't I'd rather die!"

"But I can't let you! Someone has to take care of him and you do that better then me!"

"John please don't…!"

A wave of Moriarty's hand and a blow landed on her cheek, a mouthful of blood splatting out on the pavement beneath their feet.

"So the brave soldier will save the poor little lady? Show some respect you loud wench. It's his choice and he chose to save your life."

There was a moan from her, her head was probably still spinning. John wanted to beat the two men so badly he could feel their teeth against his knuckles.

"I'm not doing it for her…"

"Oh? For whom then? Sherlock?"

"Yeah…"

Moriarty let out a surprised little laugh, stepping closer.

"Really? After everything he's put you through? After everything you've had to put up with? After he just went and replaced you with this screaming monkey, you'd still die to make sure he sees her again?"

He looked at Linda, couldn't risk looking at Moriarty he would snap, meeting her eye as she did her best to focus on him.

"Yes. I will. And I'd do it a thousand times again, if I had too…"

He backed up against the rail, placing one foot on it, then the other, still London at his back, his eyes on the woman he was giving everything he ever wanted.

"For him, I'd live this life a thousand times again. It would be worth it…"

Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and moved his foot backwards.

[Comment makes Tai type faster! Iza is still beta! X3]


	7. Still you are in my heart

Sherlocks heart had stopped. It must have. His body was numb, no air in his lungs, is brain had stopped dead.

_"For him, I'd live this life a thousand times again. It would be worth it…"_

He forced himself to breathe. How had he ever found him? How lucky had he been to ever have known a person like John?

What could he do now that he was about to loose him?

Suddenly the door behind him crashed open. He turned, swiftly, prepared for just about anything.

"Sherlock?"

Lestrade. Useless. He couldn't do anything either. Then Sherlock saw what was hanging over the inspectors shoulder.

"Lestrade!"

The inspector almost jumped back as Sherlock threw himself at him, tugging him closer.

"Sherlock? What the hell…?"

Before he could do more, the tall man had liberated him from the sniper riffle that was hanging over his shoulder and dashed back to the ledge, preparing the weapon with a speed that would have made John proud.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

"Stopping him!"

He took aim, didn't take time to look at John, that was time he didn't have, and pulled the trigger.

It almost made John jump with fright. That would have been a stupid scenario.

Suddenly, just as he was about to give up, there was a sound he had heard way to many times before, under the blazing sun in a far off land. Not even a second later there was a loud shout.

The man holding Linda suddenly fell back, hand clamped over his shoulder. Linda herself fell more controlled, almost cracking her shoulders out of place as she twisted her arms down and around her legs to get her hands in front of her body. Military training indeed, obvious enough for John as he saw her now.

Enough about that, back to business.

As he turned back, so did Moriarty. That man however, certainly had no military training what so ever. He was way to close (guns are long-range weapons, only amateurs got so close) and his aim was off. John had no problem tackling him down, not from his higher position from the ledge. Childsplay when he didn't have to worry about a hostage.

"Bloody hell Sherlock! An inch to the left and it would have been miss Haart's head!"

"Lucky shoot then!"

He didn't waste time, had only given John a second. He would use it, oh the good doctor would use it. One does not survive the battlefield without becoming hard. John would use it.

Down the stairs again, bumping into half of Scotland yard, forcing them to turn back again, out onto the street, being saved by Lestrade from oncoming traffic, who cares about laws at this point, and forward, praying the elevator is working because he has really had enough of stairs, the god damned stairs.

Moriarty is not a fighter. John almost pulls his punches when he realizes. Then he remembers Carl Powers shoes. The bombs. The lives. The pool. Linda's black eye. Sherlock. And he hits him again.

Jim might not be a fighter, but he is a survivor. He roars and kicks and lashes out and he gets a lucky one over John's left temple, just enough to daze him, just enough to get out from under him.

John is on him in a second again, crashing into him, forcing him up against the small house with the stairs, growling in his face and for a moment, he sees fear in Moriarty's eyes.

Then there is a quiet noise, a whimper of sorts, and John glances over his shoulder to see that the man has gotten up, has stuck something into Linda's body, right over her hipbone, and that the woman is falling backwards, blood running between her fingers.

He grits his teeth, because he knows. Moriarty smiles, because he knows too.

"Save her, or stop me. Pick one, doctor."

He trows Moriarty away, rips his jacket off and slides down on his knees by the woman's small body.

"I'll leave you to Sherlock, and pray he gets you before he sees her like this!"

He doesn't look as the two men leave the roof, doesn't care if they heard him, if they care. He presses his hands down around the handle of the knife, pulls it out and covers the wound with as much fabric as he can. She cries out between her teeth, her back arched and her hands clamp down over his.

"It's ok, Linda, you'll be just fine."

"Bullshit doctor… Wounds to the stomach are… Unpredictable… Probably… Fatal…!"

"Relax, you'll be fine…!"

"John..!"

"Just relax!"

"John! What is it…?"

"What is what?"

"What is… The one difference… Between you and me?"

"Not now…!"

"Now, John, cause I'm not leaving this world without you knowing!"

"You're not dying!"

"You don't know that! Now… What is the difference?"

He looks at her, her nails digging into his hands, her teeth glued together in pain, her eyes wide and dark, locked on his. She needs this, if she's dying she needs this and John is not sure she will live. So he thinks, like he does when Sherlock asks him too. He says the first thing that pops into his head.

"You're a woman…?"

And she smiles. And he understands. And suddenly, the London sky is just a bit brighter.

"I never slept with him… He didn't get it at first… Stupid git… But once he got it… It just made him more abnormal… Tried to convince him… Didn't listen, never does…."

"Linda… Please…!"

"Promised I wouldn't tell, but you are perfect John, you had to know because he will never tell you… Stupid prick…"

"Hang in there! Look at me Linda…!"

"Tell him… Please John… Take care of him… Oh God he will be mad at me…"

"Who? Linda! Answer me!"

Sherlock arrives just in time to grab her hand, to see her smile, before her eyes roll back in her skull and her hands go limp. Lestrade got a helicopter the moment Sherlock let go of the riffle, and it takes her to the hospital. She is critical for hours, a miracle she even made it to the ER. Sherlock refuses to leave. John stays too. Lestrade tells everyone to just bloody back off all ready. Sherlock admits in a corner of his mind that he has a friend.

Sherlock breathes a bit easier when they tell them Miss Haart will live to fight another day. She will have a scar, and must stay of solid foods for two weeks, but she will live. John almost cries.

Sherlock buys a flower, a gladiolus, and then he sits there and stares at her as she sleeps the drugs off. John doesn't even bother to nag at him.

"Did you get him?"

Nineteen hours and seventeen minutes, not that Sherlock was counting.

"No, sorry."

"No worries, you will…"

"Of course…"

"How long was I out?"

"Almost twenty hours."

"Damn…"

"Did you think I'd be mad at you?"

"Huh? No, what made you think that?"

"John said you mumbled something like that."

"No, not you. Sorry, I was a bit delusional. You know, with the blood loss and all… What do the doctors say?"

"Soup and bedrest for the next fourteen days. The scar will never fade."

"I can live with that."

"Mh."

"How's John?"

"Just fine. He went to fix something to eat."

"Ok. And you?"

"No physical injuries."

"Not what I was asking."

"I'm fine."

"Bull…"

"You are awake, I'll be fine now."

"Better."

"Hm…"

"I… might have… Oh never mind. You'll find out soon enough…"

"What did you do?"

"You'll see…"

"Linda!"

"Ah, detective inspector! And John too! Nice to see you!"

"I'm not finished with you yet…!"

"Sherlock! What on earth has gotten…? Never mind! Get out! This is a hospital for Gods sake!"

"And you dated that guy?"

"Stop making me laugh, my stomach hurts like crazy!"

Mycroft comes the day after, and afterwards John wonders if he planed it.

"Mycroft? Never thought I'd see you at my bedside! I'm afraid I'm not of much use to you at the moment…"

"Oh, this is a social visit, please relax."

"My my, two Holmes coming to see how I am in one day! I feel so pampered!"

Sherlock grunts and crawls deeper into the chair. John snickers on the other side of the bed.

"We have a problem my dear."

"Yeah, I noticed…"

"I promised I would take care of whatever situation might pop up, but I'm not certain of what you would prefer, miss Haart."

They all look at her. She is small and pale, still a bit grey around her eyes and in the corners of her mouth, but her eyes are clear and she sits up straight.

"Kill me, Mycroft."

Two pairs of eyes stare at her in disbelief, the other closes and nods slowly.

"Yes, that would be best…"

"Wait! What, no! How is that for the best?"

"Moriarty knows who I am, he will come after me."

"But killing you…?"

"Is the best way to keep him of my track."

Mycroft nods and turns to to leave. Sherlock closes his eyes, like he understands. John doesn't know who to scream at.

"Linda Haart died from her wound, a loss to all who knew her. I will miss you."

"Don't worry Mycroft, I'll haunt you."

"I sure do hope so…"

Then he is gone. John can't stop thinking something's wrong. He missed something important.

"When you say die…?"

"It's what the medical records will say. It's all Moriarty will ever find."

"Where will you go?"

John breathes. Sherlock understood, even if it took John a minute.

"Home."

"He will find it."

"No, he won't."

"He's smarter then you think!"

"I'M smarter then you think! Honestly Sherlock, you are so thick!"

He stares at her, then he squints his eyes together, deducing the living daylight out of her taunting smile and then he grins.

"Your engagement ended when you married him."

"God that took you long enough!"

"You're married?"

"His name is Thomas! Oh you'd positively hate him Sherlock! He's everything you're not!"

"I'm so happy for you."

"You'd better be! I just love him to bits!"

"He's the one that would have been mad at you?"

She grins at John and he can see the pure love on her face. How se kept it hidden so long is a mystery.

"He hated the idea of me taking this job, made me promise for once to come back alive…"

"You almost didn't…"

"But I did!"

"So Linda Haart s just a cover, an alias?"

"Mh, I use it as a code-name when I'm doing Mycroft's…"

"Legwork?"

They laugh, even Sherlock smiles a bit.

"So, miss Haart dies and I go home as Mrs. Bailey, as I should have years ago."

"You'll be miss Haart again soon enough."

She glares at Sherlock, because it's true and they all know it.

"Sherlock, we should get home…"

"True. Linda, keep out of trouble and come see us before you go home will you."

"YOU keep out of trouble and I just might!"

She does, a week later. She comes a little before noon and picks up her bag. She kisses their cheeks and hold them tight, both of them, before shoving a big bouquet between them and disappearing down the stairs. The card has both their names on it, so they read it at the same time, the only two words scribbled down.

_Tell him!_

They glance at each other, and John must admit he likes to see Sherlock blush.

"Did she…?"

"Yeah…"

"And you didn't…?"

"Leave? Of course not."

"Then… Are you…?"

"You're the genius, you figure it out. I'm putting these in water…"

He flees into the kitchen so that Sherlock won't see the wide grin of pure happiness that explodes over his face. It takes a good thirty seconds for him to get his face to take any sort of normal shape again, and in that time, the detective has cracked it.

Long arms slide around his ribcage, a long body leans down a bit to curl around his back, soft lips brush against his ear.

"John?"

It's a question, and John knows the answer. He turns around, still in Sherlocks arms, and smiles, and Sherlock smiles back.

They stay on the couch all day. Sherlock ignores his phone and John has never felt so loved in his life. They watch crap telly and talk and Sherlock curls up against him like a way to big cat and John pets his hair, traces his ears, down his neck to his collarbone. Then he stops, and Sherlock does not ask him to continue.

Sherlock figured himself out years ago, John has only debated this for a few months. Sherlock lets him figure it out in his own time. It's not like he is ever going to let John go, they have the rest of their lives. No need to rush.

Lestrade sighs and rubs his temples. John is so embarrassed that he could die. Sherlock has never looked so smug.

"You did it on purpose…"

"John looked like he needed a hug…"

"And a snogg?"

"Well, Anderson was annoying me… He really shouldn't be so sensitive!"

"You're enjoying this!"

"Oh, I saw you crack a smile too Lestrade, relax!"

"Still, Sherlock…!"

"Oh it's just a bit of vomit, just let it go!"

John tries his best not to laugh.

"Guess I should just be happy the two of you finally got it on…"

In the other end of the island, the door to a small flat in Edinburgh opens and closes gently. A bag is dropped on the chair and a pair of black vance are placed between the big sneekers and the small winter boots.

A figure gently sneeks over the bare floorboards between the worn out turkish carpets. Slowly, not to disturb the other person sleeping, the short person creeps into the bed, spooning up against the much taller man.

"How was he?"

She sighs. He probably heard her coming in the door. She can never sneek up on him.

"He's just fine. I might have stirred up his life a bit but he's better off for it."

"How long are you staying?"

"I'm home now. I'm going to stay for a long time."

"A week?"

"A month at least. I'm off solid foods for now."

"I see."

She snuggles into his back. The past ten days slowly fades from her mind. She is home now, and she could care less about Sherlock. John's got that bit covered.

"Mycroft will come before the month is up. You're the best he's got."

"Oh he'll leave me alone if he knows what's good for him."

"Why?"

She grins. She found an interesting pice of information on Lestrades computer. She can get a lot of paid vacation from that.

"I have dirt on him. A big pice of dirt. A month worth of dirt."

"Ok then. Will you help me out at the workshop then? I could use a secretary…"

"Of course."

"I love you baby."

"I love you too Tommy."

Linda closes her eyes and for a while, the world is as perfect as it gets.

[A/N: There might be more... Maybe... If all of you who faved and subrsribed to this story COMMENT! XD Sorry but I hate getting fave and sub Emails but no reviews! It pisses me off! You don't even have to be nice, bitch all you want, I'll take the haters any day! Oh, and IF there is a sequel, it will be a new story, not chapter! Thank you for reading! Yours truly, Tai!]


End file.
